65 Thoughts We Had During Week 3 Of The Bachelorette

By Millie Lester - 06 Oct 2017

The Bachelorette has dragged its lifeless size 6 body all the way to week three and already the cracks in this great Australian love story fern are beginning to show. While Jarrod spent the vast majority of his downtime polishing a ski mask in a doomsday bunker under the mansion, four alarmingly middle-aged intruders appeared on the good room futon, forcing Sophie to relearn the art of human conversation.

Here are 65 thoughts we had during week 3 of The Bachelorette.

I can’t believe I’m still watching this shit.

Goddammit it’s good though.

Technically it would take six years to accrue enough annual leave to go on The Bachelorette and not get fired. And believe you me—Jarrod knows it.

He’s wanted Sophie since she ranked #96 in the Maxim Hot 100 List of 2011 and he hasn’t taken a day of sick leave since.

He also hasn’t worn sunscreen since.

I’m looking for a little more substance in this week’s episodes. More specifically, I’m looking for anyone but James to lick a battery.

Or at the very least for Sophie to get maggoted and kiss Osher on the mouth.

Ommagod. Harry looks like Angela Anaconda with his hair out.

Ever since I read in the Daily Mail that Apollo’s real name is Jake, I’ve cried myself to sleep every night.

He’s basically the whole package, except everything he says is a lie. He’s like the Chamber of Secrets Voldemort of the non-magical world.

And James is the Dobby.

And Jarrod is Vernon Dur—I could honestly do this all day.

The fork trick still gives me goosebumps though. Phwoar.

I’m like 80% sure they made Sophie get her manual license before filming started so they could save money on car rentals.

Just like I’m convinced that the producers had to set a whole day aside to explain to the guys that’s it’s ok for women to drive cars.

But not to swear or look ‘not-hot’.

Some crappy intern misplaced like six zeros on the budget this season because this is the second date in a row where they’ve just sat around drinking vodka raspberries in the good room.

Apollo really missed an opportunity to turn water into wine here. That is easily the trump card of spousal skills. Just ask Jesus.

OK, so my only hesitation with Apollo is that he named himself after a Tom Hanks’ movie, he lives in Las Vegas and he’s clearly only here to forward his career and cash in on Sophie’s fame. Aside from that, he’s definitely the one.

Meanwhile, back at the Brotel, Jarrod is making wild accusations about the low levels of testosterone in the house while watering his love fern.

This season needs like eleven intruders who are all CFOs from Fortune 500 companies for Sophie to have even a whisker’s chance of finding someone who a) is good enough for her, and b) whose voice has broken.

Plot twist: one of the intruders is Shannon Noll.

How is it fair that four strangers ride in on a helicopter while Sophie has been riding waves in an inflatable condom?

Quite frankly it wouldn’t surprise me if it was BYO transport this season.

Guy can get right back in the helicopter. I have a Girlfriend magazine collection that’s older than he is.

So can Paul. He looks like he’d make high school chemistry a living hell, only for you to find out after graduation that he’d been in love with your dead mother for seventeen years and had been playing a double agent in order to help you defeat the Dark Lord when the time came to fulfill the prophecy.

I can get around AJ though, he is REFRESHINGLY age appropriate.

Stu looks like someone who’d give you the absolute runaround at the Telstra shop.

It seems cruel that the producers put on a polo match in the episode immediately after they send the professional polo player home.

In fairness, Bingham’s probably thankful he’s not there to witness his profession be desecrated by BICYCLES that were probably stolen from the Channel Ten parking lot.

Grant Denyer probably had to walk home that day. Good.

I hate every single one of the intruders but I want them ALL to stay so Sophie has to send some of the crumbs home.

Namely Jarrod, Jarrod, Jarrod and Jarrod.

How the hell did they go from black tie to polo shirts between the walk from the deck to the rose ceremony? This is some Jourdan fake limp bullshit.

I will shed no tears over Bret, Paul, Harry or the Dab Man.

I will, however, expect there to be less infighting between the men in this next episode and more money spent on making people confront their debilitating fear of heights like us taxpayers were promised.

These men look like they’re on the worst school camp of their lives.

Ryan looks ready to punch a wardrobe.

I am so torn vis-a-vis James getting the single date. On one hand, yes I do want him all up in my screen, but on the other hand I want him to fall in love with ME and not Sophie.

Channel Ten’s accounts are obviously still frozen because James and Sophie just caught a WATER TAXI to a patch of footpath where they will BUSK FOR MONEY.

Presumably to pay for their vodka raspberries later on.

James’ smile is the only thing stopping me from switching to Survivor: Heroes V Healers V Hustlers on Go.

If he kisses Sophie again, I will punch a wardrobe.

This group date is just an elaborate ruse to make Jarred wear a hat because the makeup team have been complaining about how hard it is to match a foundation to his skin tone.

How the f*ck did Sophie fail every single year at school?? Should she be in jail or something??

In any other season the bachelorette would be drawing symbolic metaphors from the task of making paper planes but Sophie is all like, “oi Sam, what the f*ck is that? A paper plane for people with no hands? You’re adopted.”

It saddens me that the same men who think 560 x 0 = 560 can vote in federal elections and my cat can’t.

Osher just asked Ryan to spell the name of the industry he works in. Sophie, you need to raise your standards or you will be married to a gumboot.

Any chef who spells cuisine, Q-U-I-Z-I-N-E, should not be allowed to own land.

It’s like the producers have said to Ryan, ‘every time you respect the female species, a child dies’.

Ok hold up, hold up, hold up. Ryan, you just sat in front of a national television crew and told Sophie that you don’t think she can give you the private relationship you deserve.

It’s like the six-foot wood fire pizza oven calling the kettle black.

It’s coming… The moment I’ve been giving up my Wednesday and Thursday evenings browsing crockery at Kmart for… YAAASS SOPH SLAAAAYYYY. KICK HIM TO THE CURB.

So after asking Sophie to refrain from swearing, Ryan drops six F-bombs in the time it takes to get up from the couch and walk out of shot.

I cannot believe this #plantgate storyline has been on my TV for longer than forty seconds.

I also cannot believe that Jarrod is still feigning surprise every time Sophie comes down the steps at the cocktail party, like he hasn’t been there all night stroking his dead fern.

I literally mute the telly every time he talks.

He is deadset the biggest flog I’ve ever clapped eyes on.

You may claim to be good at growing plants, Jarrod, but you’re doing a shocking job of growing viewer sentiment—everyone hates you.

I wish this was Big Brother and you could call a 1800 number to kick people out of the house.

Actually I wish this show was just called James & the Giant Tax Breach.

Let’s get this rose ceremony home and hosed so I can watch four hours of Park & Rec and cleanse my soul of this viagra plant crap.

I wish Guy the best of luck with whatever he does with his life, and hope he enjoys the new half dozen Instagram followers he got this week.

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By Millie Lester

Millie hails from the island state of Tasmania where her obsession with delicious foods began. She enjoys writing, but more importantly can play table tennis with both hands and has never lost a game of Cluedo in her life. Her greatest achievement to date was making eye contact with Roger Federer at the 2007 Australian Open.

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